Sunflowers drive against the blue.
Wind forces the stalks back
into flames. All about power
on this day of heat and moving air.
All ripped apart and put back with paint.

How could he know the impossible,
see it again through brush raking canvas?

He took no care for consequence,
spent whole days howling
at the recognition of what flew out
of his hands and screamed.

Oh, sweet madness, how I’d love to have you in
for just an interview. To lean
into your eyes in search of clues.

Now the explanation takes on
a life of its own as I return
safely, to bask
in the wilderness of suns.